


Alive

by skylar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylar/pseuds/skylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imprisoned in MI6's holding cell, Raoul Silva still posed to be a problem.   Mallory was forced to make some hard decisions with Tanner's assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for some mentions of torture and violence. Nothing is that serious.

Contrary to Silva’s belief, death did not mean blissful oblivion unless oblivion had lights and sounds. The lights were made of round white dots in the distant which flashed infrequently like beacons before dying out. Mostly, there was just infinite darkness that coalesced around him, pressing from all sides, the pressure a leaden weight on his chest. He did not breathe for he could not hear his own breathing. The only sounds were the faint but constant beeps from a distant unlocated source.

For a while, Silva remained undisturbed in this state, not wholly comfortable but not cold or in pain either. Then, the terrifying nightmares invaded his world unrelentingly, one after another. Sometimes, he was a mere observer of the image sequences, other times, he was the featured victim, often confined in a one square meter cell, hungry, cold, and hurt in the dark, unable to breathe, move, or even scream.

Once he managed to fight the nightmares and surface to half-consciousness, awake enough to be aware of the horizontal surface under him. He did not want to wake up however. Instead, he allowed exhaustion to suck him back into endless darkness and deposit him inside a small water bubble where he slowly floated about and watched as distorted sounds and silvers of white lights bounced off the thin bubble membrane around him without penetration.

At first, Silva was quite content with his new state but gradually, he grew weary of the surroundings and the views. Staying or leaving? The question plagued him for what that felt like a long time. When he finally decided to go at last and reached out, strong harsh lights suddenly flooded his world and seemed to burn his retinas. He wanted to shield his eyes but his hands couldn’t move. So he lay still and waited with his eyes screwing tight until his senses became more accustomed to the unwelcoming environment.

The beeps originated from some kind of machinery behind him. Possibly a vital monitoring device, his brain supplied. When Silva could see, he did not find much beyond the lump of the pillow his head was currently resting on, a drab white wall, a window with bars, and a utility chair. Tired and disorientated, he tried to move again and found that he had been tied down on his back by the straps around his arms, legs and torso. He turned his head to the other side and saw some standard hospital equipment and gadgets, a small table, and a one-way mirror poorly disguised as a second window.

For a fleeting moment, he felt ill when he thought he was in a Chinese prison but soon, memories rushed back and he felt an unbridled rage that fueled his futile struggle in the restrains.

The filthy rat had robbed him of Mother’s last moment. It was unbelievable! He remembered the frozen floor of the chapel where he had been lying in a pool of his own blood, physically incapacitated but conscious enough to hear her last words while not being about to touch her or hold her. If it wasn’t for James Bond, he would have been able to leave this world in peace with her. But no, Bond had to put his nose in things he should not, had to foil his plan and ruin every goddamn thing—good things—in his life!

Silva had spent fifteen years planning for that perfect moment, dreamt of it much, and gone through every possible iteration and permutation of his plan. Never once had he doubted that he would not succeed.

Now, Mother was dead. He knew it deep in his heart, the loss encompassing to the point of causing him physical pain. And yet he could not grieve for rage was consuming him, choking him and constricting the little air that entered his laborious lungs.

Why was she, the only person he cared about, dead but he was still alive? He had earned his rights to be with her!

It was Bond who had taken her from him. He was the cause of her death and the disease that clung to him.

Fingers clawing at the sheets and burying in the flimsy cotton, Silva seethed, frothing a bit at the mouth from the insurmountable anger.

He should have blown Bond’s brain out, or maimed his body alive and tossed it to the rats when he had the chance.

 _Regret is unprofessional,_ her voice echoed in his muddled brain and cleared a path to new thoughts.

Quietly, Silva reasserted his situation and available options. Rescue needed to come soon or he had to rescue himself.

Barely a few minute later, the door to his cell opened. Two security guards posted outside the door let in a doctor and a nurse. He ignored them and didn’t respond to the check-up and the general questions about his pain and comfort level. Afterward, they removed his IV tube and wheeled the machines outside.

The next team that entered the cell were two familiar men in dark suits. Silva recognized one of them as Bill Tanner, MI6's chief of staff, but it took him a few seconds longer to name the other man as Gareth Mallory, the chairman of the Intelligence and Security Committee. Despite an arm in a sling, Mallory carried a Colt .45 in a belt holster concealed under the outer layer of his suit, and Silva, having remembered the gunfight at the public inquiry, knew not to underestimate the man’s firearm competency even in his current shape.

The presence of them together here however could only mean one thing.

Silva gave them a smile full of teeth. “Congratulations on the promotion, Mallory.”

“Call me M, please,” Mallory said. His voice was of a regular volume but carrying the sternness and authority of a man who had been in the position of power for long. Maybe way too long.

Silva laughed long and hard, the force of it shaking his body and reminding him of the wound on his back. Both of his visitors maintained their professional coolness but he could see the disturbance, worry and stress behind their façade.

Then, abruptly, he stopped and asked. “What do you want?”

“We want to talk to you.”

“Take these off and we’ll talk.” Balling up his hands, Silva jerked on the restraint to emphasise his point. Some interrogator in his past liked to contrast comfort with torture. Silva didn’t know how Mallory and Tanner wanted to play this but it was worth a try.

Mallory exchanged a glance with Tanner who, in turn, knocked on the door. The earlier nurse entered again, removed his straps and helped him to turn to one side while his visitors watched him intensely for any sudden movement. Gingerly, Silva pulled himself toward the headboard, groaning noisily even though the painkiller had numbed the sharpest edge of the pain, and shoved a pillow under his body to support himself.

“Water,” he croaked, licking his parched lips. The nurse hurried to the table, poured some water into a plastic cup and handed it to him. Silva drank slowly, found a small metal ball in his drink and discreetly pushed it on top of his denture while his eyes roved around the room. There were two cameras in the room, one visible, one not quite so to the untrained eye.

No one spoke until the nurse left. Mallory started pleasantly. “You were lucky that the wound didn’t hit any vital organ.”

“Or… the very opposite. My death was not enough. You need to extract retribution for my sins.”

“Maybe it’s best to go straight to the problem at hand here.” Mallory’s eyes fixed on Silva’s face. “Where did you keep the computer drive?”

“Oops,” Silva exclaimed, schooling his face into a surprise expression. “I thought your people recovered it when they trampled all over my island.”

Mallory’s mouth twitched but he maintained his textbook professionalism and let Tanner, who had been quiet, talk. “We did recover the original hard drive and believe that the security breach was contained. However, three days ago, an anonymous source released five more NATO agent names on Youtube, using the same algorithm to evade detection as you did. Since you were still unconscious at the time, this indicates that you made a copy and a current known associate of yours was using it in your absence.”

“I don’t know anything. Maybe you got your precious file stolen again.”

“We are positive that you have the file or know the location of the person that keeps it.”

Silva showed his empty hands and raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Look at me. I got nothing on me but these hospital scrubs.”

“We strongly suggest you to talk for your own interest or we may have to resort of a more extreme measure.”

“Is that a threat? Ohhh, it’s a threat, isn’t it? How do you want to do it? Are you going to use some drugs on me to make me talk? Hang me up, beat me with a club and shock me with a cattle prod? Or lock me in a cage, douse me with cold water and—”

“Tanner didn’t mean it that way,” Mallory interrupted him, evidently playing the good cop, the rate of his speech slow and making his voice soothingly calm in contrast to Tanner’s rapid talk. “What he meant is that if you cooperate, we can ensure that your trial will be as fair as possible.”

“As if there is a trial at all.” Silva laughed without mirth. “And in the improbable even that there is, what’s the difference between 70 and 100 years?”

“Tiago, you used to work in the Service. You were and are still a British citizen. We ask that you do not betray our nation. Five MI6 agents and an American from the CIA—all good men and women—have been murdered so far, two within the last three days while you were out. I was a prisoner of the IRA for three months. I know what you went through. I understand how you might feel to realize that my predecessor put you in that position. But she’s dead. There is no more reason to keep killing—”

“And no reason to save them either. You can always pull them out and give them an early retirement. There’re enough orphans for your little… recruitment programs to replace them.”

Mallory frowned. “Is that what you really think? That lives do not matter because you were betrayed and left to die in that prison? She made a judgement error but she was like a mother to you. You may think that no one cares about you but she did c—”

“Stop lying to me!” Silva yelled, grabbing the bed frame, resisting the urge to choke the other man for uttering such a blatant lie to him. Mallory’s free hand immediately went to his gun. They locked gaze for a moment. Silva relaxed his posture and let himself lean into the pillow.

“I just want to know where the file is,” Mallory said persistently, his voice still carrying that maddening calmness as though nothing could shake his composure and impeccable manners. “I promise to testify for you during the hearing if you tell us where it is.”

Slowly, Silva stretched his lips into a smile that Severine had once described as ‘grotesque’.

“I don’t know location of the file or the person who has it. Any other question?”

“Would you like talk to 007 instead?”

Jaw clenching tight, Silva could feel a muscle in his neck contracting from the anger and hatred that renewed with vehemence. And yet, he closed his eyes, feigning disinterest. “Why do I want to see him? Is he going to read poetry for me?”

“I figured that you might want to look into his eyes one last time before he disappears. You probably still remember our generous retirement benefit package for double-O agents.”

Silva did not reply for fear what he might do.

There were the sounds of retreating footsteps on hard concrete, and then of the door being opened and shut. Silva counted to ten, opened his eyes, glared at the mirror as his blood boiled inside his veins.

And then he schemed.

**  
“Should we put him back in the restraints?” Tanner asked as soon as they were out.

“No, that’s not necessary.” Mallory waved his hand in dismissal and turning to R who had been monitoring the conversation from the other side of the mirror, he asked. “What is your evaluation of him?”

“Based on the medical report and his ability to track the conversation and maintain eye contact, I must say that he was doing quite well physically and mentally. There was no overt sign of psychosis or suicide but I suspect some hidden neurological conditions based on his erratic mood swing and control of face muscles. For a full psychological evaluation, I will need to conduct a meeting with the subject.”

“Let’s skip that for now. Thank you, R. Your work here is done. Go and get some rest. You’ve been here for… almost 24 hours.”

Mallory pointed to one of the security guards. “You too. Take a day off. And you,” he paused, pointing to the other guard, “don’t work too hard. The prisoner isn’t going anywhere. Go stretch your leg sometimes. Get a coffee or something.”

Without speaking further, Mallory hurried away with Tanner right behind him. Once they were inside his personal office, Mallory gave instructions to Tanner to contact 007 and pull up Silva’s file while he typed an email to Q.

“May I ask what the current plan is, M?”

“How long have you been working under my predecessor?” Mallory asked without looking at Tanner, his attention focused on the monitor and keyboard as he typed with one hand.

“15 years, sir.”

“Did she always confide in you about every mission?”

“Not always. I could be privy to details.”

“That’s to be expected.” Mallory paused to hit ‘send’ and opened a mission template. “You were in there with me. What do you think about Raoul Silva?”

Tanner didn’t respond right away as though to pick his words. “He seemed a little weak but calm, confident and relatively sane for a terrorist.”

“If you were in his position, wouldn’t you be afraid at the threat of violence? Where do you think that confidence come from?”

“I presume that he got used to it. After all, he had a lot of experience in China, not to mention that he used to be a double-O.”

“Hmph, that’s what a normal person might think but it’s untrue. Those who have gone through… torture have a higher level of tolerance for pain but they are not immune to pain or the fear of a repeat. This does not mean employing such method on him will yield any fruitful result.”

“We could still try by flying in a specialist,” Tanner suggested.

“That’s what we would do had we more time to question him but we don’t. In fact, I don’t think we can keep him here for long.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“He’s going to escape soon, hopefully within the next… oh, 24 hours.”

“How? It’s not possible. This is a secure facility—”

“A secure facility that has let prisoners escape twice within the last eight years. We have moles in MI6, and at this point, I no longer trust anyone inside this building except you and 007.”

“Shouldn’t we assign more security guards instead of telling them to go home?”

“No. I doubt it will stop him anyway. Plus, we want him to lead us to the person who has the file so we’re going to play into his hands.”

“That’s risky!” Tanner cried alarmingly.

“Risky, yes, but that’s the only option that we have. Containing the security leak is our chief objective right now. Do I need to remind you that the file doesn’t only contain the names of MI6 operatives? We still haven’t answered the CIA for the death of their agent.”

Mallory mopped the sweat on his temples with a handkerchief and continued. “I like to believe that Silva worked alone but evidence indicated otherwise. He has a group of fanatics who would die for him and an accomplice skilled in hacking. That much is clear. What is not clear is how far his web spreads. According to his travel profile over the past fifteen years, I believe he has ties to various terrorist organizations in Asia and Middle East. Since the casino under his other alias is still operating, he may also be dealing with the Chinese. We don’t know anything specific until we obtain more information.”

A long moment passed in silence broken only by a ping to inform him of a new email from Q. Mallory skimmed over the brief content quickly and returned to typing.

“Due to the severity of the issue, may I suggest the mission to be delegated to a more suitable agent than 007?” Tanner asked after a while.

Just when Mallory was about to respond, the phone rang and Moneypenny voice came through the speaker. “007 is here, M.”

“Tell him to wait,” spoke Mallory and turned back to Tanner when Moneypenny was off the line.

“007 is the right man for the job. Did you notice how furious Silva was when I told him about 007?”

“Sir…”

“Yes, I’m aware of 007’s inadequate performance on the physical and psychological exams. You know how I once accused my predecessor of being sentimental about him? She wasn’t. She was betting on him to fail and get captured. I’m taking a lesson from her here. We will have a support team on standby, ready to raze Silva’s place once he takes 007 in.”

“But what if Silva decides to kill 007 instead of capturing him alive?”

“That is a possibility but I don’t think he will.” Mallory halted the conversation to type the last few letters of his document and send it to the printer.

“During my career, I’ve seen a few men like him—intelligent, charismatic, extremely dedicated and self-driven but slightly unbalanced and poorly adjusted. All they need is a little push to crack. Silva… this man is a bit more extreme probably due to his history. His obsession with revenge bothers on pathology but a simple kill doesn’t satisfy him. He could have blown MI6 up when my predecessor was inside but he didn’t. He could have shot her at the public inquiry but he didn’t. I believe he’s the type who needs to make the killing of his prey something private—something personal. A lot of serial killers also exhibit this same trait.”

Mallory picked up the paper from the printer and gave it a cursory glance before slipping it inside the dossier Tanner had placed on the desk. “And it seems he has chosen 007 to be his next target. Quite understandable.”

Tanner did not comment although his face carried a troubled expression.

“Are you, by any chance, a friend of 007?” asked Mallory, casually.

“I don’t think 007 considers me his friend.”

“Ah, but you do. This is difficult for you, isn’t it? Are you questioning my ethics, Tanner?”

“No, M.” Tanner shook his head quickly in denial.

“And I was hoping that you were. I assume that you didn’t question my predecessor on her handling of Tiago’s case in 1997 either?”

“With all due respect, sir, I was following order.”

“This is not the time for blame. If you work for me, I prefer that you voice your opinion when appropriate.” Mallory paused briefly to let the words sink in. “I’ve been going over every mission overseen by the last M, especially the ones assigned to Tiago Rodriguez. His hacking of the Chinese was well within the acceptable parameters, but when the news was leaked—possibly due to a traitor or a spy—we tipped off the Chinese about his location and sold him out. Tanner, I do not sympathise with him or his terrorist attacks on London. What I’m trying to say here is that she made a grave mistake, and mistakes are often costly especially in this line of work.”

“At the time, evaluation indicated an acceptable level of risk. Every double-O has gone through torture resistance training and received a cyanide capsule for cases as such. Tiago was presumed to be dead and subsequently rewarded with the highest honour.”

“Do you still believe that was the right thing to do?”

“We got six men in the peaceful exchange. It was a fair price to pay.”

“Good God, you should hear what you say sometimes. Stop parroting what she told you.” Mallory leaned forward on his chair to catch Tanner’s eyes. “No one’s life is worth more than another. You don’t sacrifice people because you think they’re expendable. Most people believe that these double-O agents heartless killers, weapons, or mere tools. What they don’t remember is that these agents are our fellow countrymen who put their lives on the line everyday to do the dirty work for us so that we can have a good night sleep at home. My predecessor thought she gave the Chinese a dead body. What she did was to give them a seed to grow a monster. We blew the cover of one brilliant double-O agent and gave him up. In return, we received a terrorist and six operatives who were no longer of any intelligence value due to their known identities. You tell me again, how fair is that price?” Mallory asked, raising his voice at the end of his explosion.

It took him a minute or so to calm down. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “The foundation of any organization, agency, or country is its people. If you want their loyalty and their trust, you have to take care of the people and listen to what they have to say. This is why I’m going to give 007 two options. If he chooses to do take this mission, it will be his last. If he doesn’t, he can retire with full benefits.”

“What would we do then if he doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll go to plan B.”

**  
When James Bond entered Mallory’s office, he surveyed the room out of habit and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Instead of glass and metal, it was a room full of luxurious woodwork with coffered ceilings, dark-paneled desks, rich brown leather upholstery chairs, and matching bookshelves with built-in cabinets below.

How traditional, Bond thought.

He suddenly missed the contemporary design of the old office but he dismissed that thought as soon as it came. Mallory was the new M now, and the sooner he accepted the change and the new order, the easier his life would be.

Forcefully pushing the memory of their last conversation down and trying not to let his apprehension show, Bond shut the padded door and started walking toward Mallory who, at the sight of Bond, abandoned his document to stand up and greet him.

They exchanged some pleasantries and Bond smiled—a smile not with force but without delight.

“So, 007,” said Mallory, picked up a dossier, and tossed it on the desk in front of Bond. “A lot to be done. Are you ready to get back to work?”

Bond took a moment to take the fact that Mallory trusted him enough to let him do field work again. “With pleasure, M. With pleasure.”

“I think you may want to read it first.”

With worry lines etching into his forehead, Bond picked up the dossier and flipped it open. On the first page, beside the other mission-specific codes, was the file number of Raoul Silva.

He glanced up at Mallory who nodded in confirmation. “Yes, he’s still alive. Have a seat and finish reading before you ask me any question.”

“I don’t think this plan is a good idea,” Bond said once he was done, his lips thinning in distaste at the idea.

“What’s your suggestion?”

“Let him rot in the prison. I’ll retrieve the file without him.”

“And what makes you think you can when two double-O’s haven’t got any lead for the last three days? It’s not just lives that are at stake here but the relations between us and our allies. At the moment, we have no better plan. You’re our best bet but I won’t force you to do this. You have done enough for Queen and country with your time in the Service already.”

Mallory pushed an envelope toward him. “This is your retirement package. You can take this, walk away, and today can be your last day at work.”

Bond’s teeth grounded together as his temple throbbed, indicating an impending headache. There was once again the feeling of being obsolete beside the enormous loneliness and despair which had not left him since her funeral. He had desperately hoped their cooperation at the court house changed Mallory’s opinion of him.

It was such a foolish thought.

Mallory was giving him no choice here. Either accept the mission or get fired.

“You have an hour to think and make your decision.”

“It’s not necessary, sir. I will do it,” Bond said immediately without hesitation, squaring his shoulders, his face a blank mask that betrayed no emotions.

“Excellent! That’s what I was counting on. I trust that you won’t let your emotions interfere with our objective. Can you do that, 007?“

“Yes, sir.”

“Go to the Q branch before you see Silva. Q will supply you with the necessary equipment.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at restoring the status quo.


End file.
